The Curse of Black October
by Tempestt Londyn
Summary: Andromeda Tonks née Black is haunted by many things, but Ted knows that nothing torments her more so than her naivety of a certain month of the year and the anguish involved therein.


**Disclaimer:** I am rightfully entitled to **absolutely no part **of the Harry Potter series.

**Summary: **Andromeda Tonks née Black is haunted by many things, but Ted knows that nothing torments her more than her naivety of a certain month of the year and the anguish involved therein.

**Warning(s): **This bears a **T **rating; there will be interludes of coarse language and mildly suggestive themes.

**Author's Note: **As promised, I've taken a break from study abroad packing (_Accio peacoat; Accio Uggs!) _to pull a story out of my "vault." I'll do likewise with another, should time permit. Reviews are appreciated, so don't hesitate. Without further ado, I present to you:

**~The Curse of Black October~**

"_Yeah, I told you that it's our world,_

_And you're foolish thinking I'm wrong…"_

Drake, "Free Spirit"

For as long as he can remember, Ted Tonks has hated the dark and stormy nights of October.

He loves her rain, for it cleanses, but despises her thunder and lightning.

Thunderstorms frightened him so badly as a child that he'd climb in bed with his mother at the slightest suspicion that one was on the horizon.

Thunder reminded him of Narcissa. Ominous and foreboding, rumblings sometimes low—but all the same, harnesses the potential to crash at any given second. That much had been confirmed during his seventh year at Hogwarts. As he exited the greenhouses on a chilly October afternoon, he'd seen a figure smaller than he crouched down by the lake, blonde hair almost touching the surface of the water. He'd thought the person looked rather distressed and approached to help.

And why, in Merlin's name, had he done that? For it was _her_.

Her bloodshot blue eyes glared up at him as she recoiled at his touch. Then, in the blink of an eye, Ted was on his back, dirt and grass stain sullying the sleek black of his newly purchased Hufflepuff robes. Narcissa, beautiful despite her distress, stood above him. Her wand was directly at his face and though her hand trembled, her resolve was rock solid.

"_Filthy mudblood_," she venomously spat, her accent polished. "Bella will have your head for dragging her away from us! This is a _pureblood _world, and you're just lucky enough to live in it…_for now_."

Lightning reminded him of Bellatrix. It is quick, non-contemplative, possessing the agility of a feline. And when it struck, it was loud. It was unforgiving. It was lethal.

It was late October, nine fortnights before Christmas when he saw _her_. Snow decorates almost everything is sight, from cobblestone bricks to door handles and roofs.

He had not been five seconds exited Madam Malkin's shop, tightly holding his wife's dress robes in the crook of his arm when he is grasped by the collar and slung into the cold, hard wall of a nearby, narrow passage.

Ted was dizzy, the force of the blow stunning him and every inch of his being. In vain, he tried to steady himself. But his eyes were still rolling back in his head and his efforts were futile. Besides, they would have failed regardless. Long nails (or talons, he is unsure) were pressed to his throat. Gentleness was a foreign concept to this person, evidently.

"_Lumos,_" the figure growled, impatiently.

His vision still distorted, Ted saw three, four faces. It was a woman with lovely features—high cheekbones and pale skin. Her hair was thick, her eyes dark.

_Oh. It's only her. _

A rush of disappointment ran through him. Now that she's discovered him, Christmas is ruined.

"'Dromeda," he pleaded, "I know I said I was over to Dirk's, but dear, isn't this a little reckl—"

The woman cut him off, giving an interesting laugh. It was disdainful, laced with humor. But he detected raging anger at its heart. His vision was improving as he struggled to shake his head. Then, there was another flick of the wand.

Ted swore his heart almost popped out of his chest.

It was not his wife who stands before him, but her elder sister, Bellatrix. Her dark grey eyes burned with hatred, marring her famously good looks. And even in his fear, Ted cursed himself for attributing such violent antics as characteristics of Andromeda, despite her and Bellatrix's aesthetic similarities.

Thick, black curls danced beside her face as her wand casts a spell which slashes his face. He collapses at her feet, his gifts doing likewise. Ted lacks the strength to cry out, for the head injury has made its impact. Still, he can whimper. And he does.

Bellatrix glowered down at Ted and addressed him callously.

"_Filthy mudblood_," she began, and he is reminded of that fateful day with Narcissa, "Ooh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Her words sounded like a mother talking to her infant child, and now Ted is truly afraid. He wondered if she was bipolar. "I should be the one crying, considering I had to _touch _you."

Ted was panting, wiping the blood from the deep incisions so that no more would run in his eyes. Maybe if screamed, someone would come. Maybe…

"Don't even _think _about calling for help, you trash," Bellatrix snarls, her index and middle fingers toying with her wand, flipping it back and forth. "I have a Christmas gift for your bitch," she announced, much like a professor preparing to administer an assessment. "Yes…I think this will do. Take this back to her, let her know who it's from. _Crucio_!"

So simply had Bellatrix sung the word. Her tone was as harsh as mermaids' voices above water. The Unforgivable Curse ripped through him as he thrashed in the snow. No centimeter of his body was immune from the burning, searing sensation—not even his eyes. Tears spilled onto his face, but he refused to give in, vocally, to let the serpent lady. Finally, when was positive his spine was about to shatter, the curse is lifted.

Ted's heart was thumping against his throat; he still felt that alcohol had been poured in his veins. But through it all, he managed to fold his lips and claw his nails into the bitterly cold snow, all to deny his sister-in-law the satisfaction of his vulnerability.

Bellatrix knelt down beside Ted and leaned in to his body, palms flat on either side of him, trapping him. A _normal _woman would have recoiled at the touch of the snow, but Ted has forgotten—of course it wouldn't faze her in the slightest for reptiles were coldblooded, and _this _particular creature required no heat.

Her lips were dangerously close to his ear, but thankfully, they made no contact. Ted thought it would've been too revolting to tolerate; Bellatrix would allow no more slime to touch her, especially in such an intimate portion of her reserved for _Him and Him _alone.

"My sistertold me of how you scoffed at her in Scotland, though I suppose you now see the error of your foolish ways." She laughed darkly, remembering his writhing. "Your days are numbered, _mudblood_; your ignorance will surely be the end of you."

Footsteps became more distinguishable as the rain begun to descend and Bellatrix pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head and walked away swiftly, cautiously, gracefully, leaving Ted there. The rain rinsed the blood from his face into the snow. It was soft, yet enough to cleanse him. Soon, hail begins to fall. Perhaps, on a normal occasion, it would've pained him; but this pelting is angelic in comparison with dark magic.

But this all was many years ago and the Black women's threats have proven hollow.

_For now…._he remembers, against his will.

It is now October as Ted lay in bed on this dark and stormy night. Thunder and lightning clash in the fight for dominance as rain relentlessly streams down the window. The wind howls cruelly and mercilessly; but all Ted hears is distraught howling, much like a werewolf's, coming from the corridors.

Unable to do nothing anymore, he sits up and rubs his temples.

This isn't the first time it's happened.

The _first _time had been two years ago when Andromeda's parents died. She'd pretended (poorly, it should be said) that it had no effect on her, that she held no more emotions for them once she'd said her goodbyes to the family.

Accordingly, Ted had thrown out the obituary section of the _Prophet_.

But he'd found the obituary Alphard, her uncle, had mailed to her; Ted has seen Andromeda, sitting at the bottom of the stairs crying into her hands, stifling the sobs as the storm raged and the wind howled. It'd been a double funeral and one in which was not even remotely welcome to attend. The program read, "_Cygnus and Druella Black leave to cherish their memories two daughters: Bellatrix Black-Lestrange (Rodolphus) and Narcissa Black-Malfoy (Lucius)…. _

The _second _time had been the following October and partly his fault. "Have you heard anything about Regulus?" Ted asked innocently enough. In retrospect, it had been a ridiculous, pitiless question. Regulus had been missing for many months on end and Andromeda suspected her young, impressionable cousin been drawn into the Death Eaters' circle somehow or the other. Andromeda had never been particularly close to Regulus, but it remained a difficult task for her to come to grips with this feasibility. It was not easy for her to digest Ted's words. She'd merely looked at him, beautiful brown eyes filled with tears to the point that he is strongly reminded of dippers which threaten to spill to their contents, and torn from the kitchen.

Later that night, a thunderstorm struck and he'd found Andromeda in the guestroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, screeching. She'd yelled at him when he'd stumbled upon her, called him "insensitive" and declared that they'd be sleeping in separate beds for the night.

_Strange_, Ted had reasoned. _A Black may abandon the 'Tojours pur' mantra, but she can't become a Tonks without retaining her mean streak. _

This morning marked the _third _time it was happening, and Ted pondered if Andromeda would _always_ cry in October, whether tormented by the ghosts of her past or forced to undergo the agony of the present.

Exhausted, he pushes the fair hair from his eyes and leaves the room to calm the pain-stricken woman. He has to be sure, at this point, that a Dementor has not worsened the situation by forcing Andromeda to relieve her worst memories.

Ted sees her as he walks into the hallway.

Andromeda is sitting on the uppermost step, holding herself, her brunette head lying on the wall as she continues to expunge the pain, forsaking all Black decorum she's managed to retain. He's lost track of how long she's cried, but the outburst began before midnight.

Her husband watches her warily for a moment, arms folded, wondering if the Black family is so cursed that they _always_ fuck up or drive one their own, disowned or not, off the edge with grief in October. Andromeda has apologized since the "incident," saying (perhaps to quell her own uncertainty) that nothing worse could happen and to allow her to cope by herself if it did.

Ted doesn't know if she was more naïve in that she hadn't yet accepted that her family would _always _do something to attract attention or in that she actually believed that he would heed her words.

_To hell with that promise, some are meant to be broken_. He muses and vaguely knows he sounds remarkably like a Slytherin. _Our marriage vows are more sacred than a promise I never intended to keep_.

He advances and sits beside her without another's moments thought, pulling her from the wall and taking her in her arms. Andromeda struggles at first, but soon relaxes, strands of light brown hair tickling Ted's face.

"For better or worse," he whispers as her cries become muffled sobs against his chest.

He's not sure of when the bawls ceased, but now their hearts beat in rhythm. "W-where's Nymphadora?" She inquires; a selfish part of Ted now wishes she'd just continued to cry because his answer wasn't going to soothe her nerves in the slightest.

"What, did you actually think I was going to let her _stay here _in the midst of all this chaos?" He asks, incredulity etched on his face as Andromeda peers up at him. "She's at my parents', 'Dromeda."

She nods, but stays silent.

Her muteness, in essence, debunks his theory of her renewed hollering.

"What a nice Halloween this has turned out to be," Andromeda mutters sadly. Her voice is throaty from all of the crying.

Ted does not respond, for he cannot begin to fathom the degree to which she is afflicted. Sirius was always the one who claimed to loathe the Dark Arts, his family's prejudiced beliefs, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Sirius was always the one who showed up for Christmas dinner bearing extravagant gifts and sloppily eating their food. Sirius was always the one offered to sing Dora a "lullaby," despite her protests of "But I'm too old, Siri!" Sirius was always the one whose singing made Dora cringe and run around the house screaming, "La-la-la, I can't hear you!" with her ears covered. And, Ted grasped with a sickening feeling, it was _always _Sirius who could have slit Dora's throat at any given second when "babysitting" on nights when he and Andromeda went out on the town.

James and Lily Potter. Sold out to a madman. _Dead_.

Peter Pettigrew. _Dead_….just for the hell of it, for all Ted knows.

Sirius Black had snapped, going madder than a resident in St. Mungo's, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could have done to prevent it. It hadn't made any difference that he was a Gryffindor, that he was disowned like his cousin, that Ted _thought _he knew him.

_Death Eater is as Death Eater does. _

When Ted speaks, he has little doubt that his words are lies. "Listen, 'Dromeda, we don't have all the information yet. Morning could come and—"

"It _is _morning, Ted," Andromeda states, plainly, feeling insulted at his need to comfort her with false hope. "Come daylight, owls will swarm the skies carrying newspapers bearing the news, Sirius will be thrown to the Dementors, there _**won't**_ be a trial!" She shouts in anger and disbelief as Ted opened his mouth, "Walburga will be beside herself with joy and Bellatrix…." Her thoughts are unfinished as shudders at her own mention of the women she'd once called 'aunt' and 'sister.'

Ted knew, truth be told, that Andromeda wasn't certain if Walburga will be elated at Sirius' debacle because of her belief that he finally did something worthwhile or that he finally got what he deserved.

Bellatrix, he knew, will too be howling at the fall of her Lord come daylight, and there will be hell to pay. That is, if Bellatrix isn't currently running amok in the darkness torturing innocent people as a release.

As for Narcissa….well, that flawless porcelain doll is most likely indifferent towards and unaffected by it all.

Ted feels Andromeda remove herself from his arms and glances upward at her in amazement. She is no longer crying, her face is now only tear _stained_. Her hands form fists, taut with resolve. She is not looking at him, but straight ahead. In this instance, she resembles a gorgeous, yet visibly agitated goddess—a Spartan woman highly dismayed with the turmoil, her suffering, ready to charge into battle. "It ends now, Ted. I can't keep letting _them _destroy me like this every year. It's not fair to you…or Nymphadora."

Her sentiments are grand, but he knows they are absurd. He knows that _something_, _someone _else will _do _something, _say _something to make her cry in the coming years. But, not wanting to infringe upon her moment, he says, "I don't doubt you, 'Dromeda."

Andromeda has always been reserved and calculating, even at Hogwarts, so Ted doesn't protest when he's met with no response after asking, "Are you coming to bed?"

He has asleep off when she finally joins him, but stirs upon recognition. He shifts and wraps his arms around her waist, bestowing kisses on her neck. She moans softly, adjusting herself so as to give him better access. Then, she becomes conscious of the task at hand.

"Tomorrow, we'll have to explain this to Nymphadora in the most….age-appropriate manner possible." Andromeda spoke determinedly.

Ted nods, sighing. He is certainly dreading _that _and the myriad of provoked questions that are sure to accompany their talk with their daughter. So caught up in these endless possibilities, he doesn't recognize his wife's voice when she addresses him once more.

Andromeda is now facing him, supported by a lone elbow propped on her pillow. An eyebrow is cocked in mild annoyance as she repeats herself. "I _said_, _promise_ me that you won't ever leave us…under any circumstances."

Ted stiffens at her question, the water swimming in her eyes, the resurfaced brokenness of her voice. She grasps his hand, running a thumb over his wedding band.

A voice that would have been otherwise subconscious has now become quite perceptive. It shouts, _"Don't respond to her idiocy, you fool! You are __**powerless**__!" _

It might have been Bellatrix's, ready to pounce should he be brazen enough disobey her.

Perhaps it was Narcissa's, threatening him to heed the logic.

Or maybe it's his own, confirming a notion Ted had fought against for so long.

Two Blacks, Death Eaters, ancient history—_manipulating, persecuting, massacring_.

One unexpected Black, a Death Eater, startlingly—_feigning friendships, garnering trust, betraying believers_.

Either way, the Blacks had asserted their presence felt committing unholy crimes in the name of a raging, genocidal extremist.

Ted knows there is a strong probability that all of their hope could evaporate before their very eyes. Neither His Death Eaters, nor His sympathizers would take this lying down. Retaliation was inevitable, and who's to say backlash wouldn't be rampant? But he elects not to dwell on such pessimistic likelihoods when his wife requires an answer to such a pertinent question, especially when common sense discloses that minimal damage can be done, seeing as He was dead and his more sane supporters were seeking concealment from Aurors.

"'Course I won't, 'Dromeda. That's a promise."

Andromeda studies him intently, her dark brown eyes scrutinizing his grey for any sign of falsehood, indecision, and he gathers he's made a mistake in delaying his reply.

But Andromeda laughs, her chuckle containing the tiniest bit of mirth. "Yes, I know. She gives him a short kiss and hugs him tightly. "Forgive my asinine question."

He embraces her, inhaling her fragrances of vanilla and mango.

He resists the urge to yell, "Damn you, October!," shout obscenities to the skies and demand to be enlightened on why _**she**_ must suffer every year, why _**they**_ refuse to stop the madness when their authority knows no budget, and why _**they **_insist on conscientiously tarnishing the legacy of a race whose honor they claim should be "preserved."

What good would it do, after all? October is gone.

Dawn ascends as thunder and lightning cease to exist—October's rain lingers, but only just, still cleansing as the couple seek healing in the tranquility of the early morning.

November has finally arrived, and they are grateful, for November _always _marks the reemergence of peace.

And _**this**_ November, Ted prays for a peace of mind so he must never renege on _**this**_ promise.

_**Fin.**_


End file.
